


Before Thee, No Light

by itallstartedwithdefenestration



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Enochian sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 02:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itallstartedwithdefenestration/pseuds/itallstartedwithdefenestration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One evening two months after the apocalypse didn’t happen and four months after Sam decided it would be a good idea to fall in love with the Devil, there’s a rainstorm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before Thee, No Light

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this](http://queenabaddon.tumblr.com/post/63239576151/sam-fucking-lucifer-so-hard-that-lucifer-starts)
> 
> could be considered a very loose timestamp for Lessons In Humanity, if you squint

One evening two months after the apocalypse didn’t happen and four months after Sam decided it would be a good idea to fall in love with the Devil, there’s a rainstorm.

It’s nothing special, just thunder and lightning and all the power of Heaven thrown down at the earth, but Lucifer decides it’s in Sam’s best interests for them to stay in their motel room, instead of going out and trying to drive in the rain. Or even just going down the hall a few doors and spending the evening having a few beers with Dean and Cas.

They watch half an hour of some generic car chasing-type movie—or, rather, Lucifer watches, his head tilted and a puzzled frown between his eyebrows as he tries to figure out the dynamics of the film, and Sam watches him, hands pressed tight against his thighs. A slow, aching want burning at the pit of his stomach, but he doesn’t act on it. This thing between them, it’s still too new, too fresh and on tenterhooks for Sam to ever do anything impulsively. Even when all he wants is to launch himself across a room and shove Lucifer against the wall, he won’t let himself.

There’s a huge, too-bright flash of lightning outside their window; the glass rattles in its pane and Sam winces, anticipating the response of air closing around itself. Lucifer glances over at him, automatic response to Sam’s movement, and opens his mouth to say something, head still at approximately eighty-four degrees.

Then the power goes. All the lights at the same time, loud burst of dying electricity from the television as the picture gets abruptly cut, and the thunder rolls hard and sudden across the sky. Sam can feel it in his chest, a dull resonating murmur.

“Shit,” he says, and gets up to unplug his laptop from where it was charging.

He doesn’t hear Lucifer move, isn’t aware that anything’s shifted in the room until he feels the angel’s fingers close around his arm. Steady, solid weight of Lucifer’s skin on his, and he suppresses a shiver. Lucifer runs a few degrees colder than normal, always has, but to Sam it feels as normal as anything, and here, in the quiet, dark closeness of the room, it’s almost warm.

“Sam,” Lucifer says, low curl of words against the side of Sam’s neck, and he groans without meaning to, turning, letting his hands fall off the laptop and against Lucifer’s belt loops.

For a few seconds they stand in silence, staring at each other in the dark. Sam can see the reflection of Lucifer’s eyes every time the lightning hits, and there’s something hard and heated in his gaze that twists up Sam’s spine and clenches something in his stomach like a fist. Mouth set in a determined line, jaw cut firm like he’s making some sort of executive decision in his mind, and all Sam can think is, _this is new for him too, this isn’t any easier just because he’s an angel._

Then there’s a flash of lightning, and Lucifer growls out, “Sam,” again, audible even over the immediate response of thunder, and the next thing Sam knows, he’s being nearly bent in half backwards over the table, Lucifer’s mouth seared to his, all hot and wet and just this side of desperate.

Sam hooks his fingers more firmly into Lucifer’s jeans, drawing him as physically close as possible and grinding up, gasping into his mouth. The pulse of Lucifer’s heart is hammering against his chest, Sam can feel it between them, picking up speed every time he drags their cocks together, and he thinks how _alive_ Lucifer feels. How very much like a semblance of human.

He thinks he could get used to it like this, fisting his fingers in Lucifer’s shirt and drawing himself back up, pushing the archangel back towards the bed, feeling him growing hotter under Sam’s touch as he falls against the mattress and spreads his legs, allowing Sam to crawl between them.

It’s the first time in a long, long time that Sam has wanted something dangerous, and known that allowing himself to have it would not break him in half.

“Sam,” Lucifer breathes, with Sam’s mouth on his neck, sucking on the skin there, while he works his hand into Lucifer’s jeans, unsnapping the button and drawing down his boxers just enough to get his fingers inside.

“Lucifer,” Sam says, all red-tinged with lust. Teeth on Lucifer’s collarbone, feeling his body shudder in response, and he kind of really likes that he can do that. He encloses his hand around the heavy weight of Lucifer’s cock, hears him gasp and moves up so he can capture that sound in his own mouth.

“I,” Lucifer starts, and then stops, as Sam pulls his jeans the rest of the way off, starts working on his own, all one-handed so he can keep pulling those sounds out of Lucifer’s throat, tiny, desperate, broken cries every time Sam’s hand moves on his cock. “I want… _Sam,_ fuck, I want you…” he’s trying to formulate words, chest moving up and down rapidly, pulse beating hard in his wrist, where Sam’s got one thumb covering his radial artery now, his own jeans finally discarded on the floor where they belong. His cock is straining against the thin, insignificant layer of his boxers, but he can hardly pay attention to it with Lucifer in front of him the way he is, flushed and debauched and fucking _wrecked,_ and he hasn’t even come yet.

“ _Sam,_ ” Lucifer almost snarls, dragging Sam down for a hard, bruising kiss, more teeth than lips and it hurts, fuck, but that’s okay, that’s how Sam likes it. He groans into Lucifer’s mouth, a sound he hardly recognizes coming from his throat, and pushes his hips into Lucifer’s thigh. They’re both so close.

And then Lucifer’s fingers are enclosed around Sam’s wrist, forcing him to stop, to pull back and stare at him. Pupils dilated, blown wide with lust and want, and Sam’s breathing hard, shaking like he’s already come, teeth gritted against the almost-pain of arousal sitting heavy in his stomach. “ _What,_ Lucifer,” he grinds out, voice hoarse and low.

Lucifer’s mouth works around several words and finally manages to come out with, “Fuck me already, _Christ,_ Sam,” which is—oh, probably the hottest thing Sam’s ever heard, and he’s working at getting their boxers off when Lucifer manages to make them disappear just by glaring at them.

Sam wasn’t aware that he could get harder than he already was.

“Okay, okay,” Sam’s saying, babbling really as he moves over Lucifer and reaches for the lube in the top drawer on the nightstand. He can still feel the heat and pressure of Lucifer’s fingers on his wrist. He doesn’t think that sensation is ever going to go away, not after this.

Then there’s a long, breathless moment where Lucifer’s shifting down and spreading his legs further, and Sam’s got his fingers inside him, stretching him out and stroking himself, flattening his palm against the base of his dick so he doesn’t come too soon. He pushes Lucifer’s knee up a little, pressing himself into the space between his legs, and only hesitates for a second before thrusting in.

Lucifer makes this _sound,_ all keening and wanting and broken, like he’s been needing this for so long and Sam leans in to swallow it from his mouth, he can’t hear something like that or it’ll all be over too soon. He grips Lucifer’s waist with one hand, tight enough to bruise, and uses the other to balance himself as he moves, testing the weight of this new, precarious thing, trying so hard not to go too far, too fast—

And then Lucifer’s saying, snarling really, “ _Sam,_ ” and Sam remembers that oh, Lucifer’s an archangel, he’s the Devil for Christ’s sake, this isn’t. He’s not going to _break._

It’s a hard slide of movement, every thrust Sam makes into Lucifer, their hips snapping together in the dark. The occasional lightning flashes bring Lucifer’s face into sharp focus, and he looks even more wrecked than before, mouth open and red and swollen, hair a mess because Sam’s been running his fingers through it, eyes half-lidded, throat working every time those sounds pass his lips.

He looks good under Sam, sweat-soaked and shaking and two seconds away from coming apart, and Sam bites Lucifer’s collarbone, mouthing his name into his skin, moving harder, faster. He feels Lucifer’s hand sneaking between them and almost shoves it away, taking over himself, jacking Lucifer rough and counterpoint to his thrusts.

“ _Adgmach,_ ” Lucifer says suddenly, and Sam almost loses his rhythm, startled at both the roughened quality of Lucifer’s voice and the unfamiliar word. “ _Ylsi ag busdir… ag olpirt… Ol aboapri noncf…_ ” He’s shuddering, hard, muscles tightening and back arching off the mattress, and he cries out, a harsh, broken sound that could be another word, could be nothing, and then he comes, hard and fast between them, Sam’s fingers sliding through the slickness as he thrusts up once, twice more, and then he’s coming too, biting down on Lucifer’s shoulder hard enough to draw blood and gasping out his name again and again, liking the wet, dark taste of it in his mouth.

Afterwards, when Sam’s cleaned them up and they’re both curled up together on the mattress, the air heavy with sex and heat, Sam cards his fingers through Lucifer’s hair, presses a kiss to the side of his neck.

“Luce,” he murmurs, soft and hesitant, because Lucifer sometimes falls asleep after he comes, like it’s too human a thing for his angelic mind to stand.

“Hmm,” Lucifer says, voice still gravel-rough in his throat.

“What were you saying, earlier,” more hesitant, because Sam’s pretty sure Lucifer was speaking Enochian, and he’s not sure how delicate of a subject that might be, “when I was in you, you weren’t really speaking English.”

Lucifer’s quiet for a while, long enough for Sam to think he’s fallen asleep. He starts to roll over, grab a corner of the sheet and haul it over them so they can be blissfully unconscious for the rest of the storm, but then Lucifer speaks, chest rumbling against Sam’s arm.

“Praising you, mostly,” he says, and oh. Sam was not expecting that. “ _Adgmach_ is ‘much glory’, it’s. It’s what we would say in the halls of Heaven, usually in the presence of God.”

_Oh._

Lucifer rolls over, and trails a finger down the center of Sam’s chest, a faint smile curving the corners of his lips. “ _Aboapri_ is ‘serve’, I said I serve you, and that before you, there was no light.” His eyebrows come together over his nose, and Sam wants, very much, to kiss him again. “No glory,” he finishes, voice a low murmur, and Sam tucks his fingers under Lucifer’s jaw.

“ _Ylsi ag olpirt,_ ” he murmurs, trying it out, tasting the truth of the statement on his tongue, and Lucifer leans in and kisses him just as a flash of lightning cuts across the sky, illuminating their room, the splay of Sam’s fingers over Lucifer’s hip.

_Ol aboapri noncf._


End file.
